All is Fair in Love and War
by theshadowhitokiri
Summary: Set in Kyoto after the Battousai leaves to become a wanderer. Young Tokio is left alone during the closing months of the Bakumatsu, and in seeking for help she finds herself in the company of two men from opposing sides of the war.
1. Broken, Pretty Things

Hello! Privyet! Here's the start of my newest story…which even I admit may be a little far fetched. But it's an idea that popped into my head during a summer class lecture, and I thought I'd try to write it out. Thanks so much to any who take the time to read and/or review!

The story here takes place shortly after the Battousai leaves Kyoto to wander, near the end of the Bakumatsu. I tried to keep the names in traditional Japanese format. Also, I tried not to make Tokio too OOC, which is a bit difficult as I don't know much about her. I apologize already for any grammatical mistakes, as I am not a native speaker of English and all. I really probably should find a Beta sometime…

--Elizaveta Mikhailovna

--Oh, almost forgot! DISCLAIMER- I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, I am just a fan!! - DISCLAIMER

Chapter 1. Broken, Pretty Things

Like pinpricks of light reawakened after a long slumber, a school of tiny fish burst out of the shadow near the east bank of the Kamo River, their silvery forms darting around the legs of a young teenager splashing through the water. The dismal grey cloud cover was finally lifting from the great city of Kyoto, and the late afternoon sun was poking its jolly face through the last wisps of cloud. It was such a beautiful day that one would never guess the city was struggling through the harsh times of the Bakumatsu. Yet the young woman taking her bath in the river knew this well enough…though late afternoon is not a common time for washing and bathing, the city gets even less safe after dark, and this slight inconvenience was much worth avoiding the risk of being gutted by a rogue hitokiri or slashed up for fun by some angry member of the Shinsengumi. Besides, her mother watched her casually from the bank, alert for any sign of alarm, one eye on her child and the other on the small family dining restaurant that she and her daughter owned and managed.

Wringing out her long black hair, Ishikawa Tokio approached the shallows near the bank where her mother sat. As the water rippled under her paddling body, a rather large and boxlike turtle took to the water with a splash as it descended into the depths of the rivers, breaking the absolute silence of the afternoon with a peaceful sound. But then followed a sound that was not so peaceful… Gunshots! And close! Sensing something bad was about to happen, Tokio dove under the water, following the flashing silver tailfins of tiny fish as they hid under the floating debris that lined the bank. She stuck her head out of the water just enough to hear what was going on, but not enough to risk being hit by a stray bullet. Right next to a floating log and covered with seaweed, Tokio felt as if the fish had led her to a good hiding place. Straining her neck, she tried to turn around to see her mother and make sure she was all right, but all she could see of her mother was the embroidered white ribbon she always wore tied up in her hair. It bobbed up and down as if she was speaking with someone, and nodding her head empathetically as if to emphasize her points. Then the voices became louder, and Tokio could clearly pick out the harsh voice of a man screaming at her mother. Listening closer she heard his voice cut through the afternoon air like a sharp katana through butter.

"I KNOW he was here! We followed him here! You should know that if you are withholding from us a fugitive of the law and a known murder, you will share in his punishment!"

Tokio's mother replied back in an equally sassy voice, "I don't know who you are talking about, but I have seen absolutely NO suspicious characters here. We run a respectable family business. No one even carrying a sword, I do believe. I've just been trying to get by and make a living in these hard times. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard if you military men stopped scaring away all my customers!!"

With this, the military man let loose a string of words that best not be repeated here, aimed at poor Mrs. Ishikawa. But the man's tirade was cut short by a new voice, cold and separate. His command instantly silenced the argument. "Kill the woman, and burn their place to the ground. Maybe that will teach her some respect."

--

About two hundred meters downstream of the Ishikawa Family Restaurant, a tiny barge chugged quietly toward the outskirts of Kyoto, carrying a small load of explosives and dynamite to the Kota Industrial Quarry. Night began to fall upon the river, and the pregnant moon was rising in the sky and casting an eerie reflection upon the gently lapping water. The man behind the helm for the barge was fighting off slumber the best he could, the rhythmic bobbing of his head pulsed in sync with the rocking off the waves as he fought a losing battle. However, he was not alone on his little boat. Hidden alongside the cargo sat another figure, daring to step out from among the boxes and packages only now that the sun had set and the light had left the sky. Gazing out cautiously at his surroundings, the young man tiptoed to the edge of barge, stretched his tired muscles as his back let out a relieved crack, and dipped his bare feet into the water. No, Kyoto during the Bakumatsu was not a pleasant place at all, and the Shinsengumi almost caught him this time. If it wasn't for the sheer luck of having this barge pass through at just the right time… Shaking his head at this disturbing thought, the young man tore a thin strip of cloth from his gi and used it to bind the small gash he received on his forearm. Not a serious wound, but just another reason to curse the name of Saitou Hajime… It was a loathsome business, and made triply worse by the fact that, being only one man, he was severely underpowered compared to Saitou's entire Third Squadron. It made him feel helpless, and that was not a feeling he was accustomed to at all. Still jumpy from the afternoon's fighting, the young man startled quite a bit when he felt something brush against his leg. Exhaling, he looked down and was pleased to find it was just a bit of white cloth…this would work much better than his torn up gi for binding his wound. Picking the cloth from the water, he noticed that is was laced with an intricate bit of embroidery…obviously was quite valuable at one point in time. But now it was stained with the dark red color of freshly shed blood. "There is no room for beauty in war," thought young Shishio Makoto as the barge continued on its slow paced trek down the Kamo River.

--

Hajime Saitou was mad as hell. Walking into his sparsely decorated office, he kicked over the small table in the center of the room, sending official-looking government papers everywhere. He was so tired of being made to look like a fool by those damn Ishin Shishi hitokiri! Once he had received news a month ago that the Hitokiri Battousai was no longer participating in the war effort, he had originally sheltered hopes that the threat might diminish, but NO! Somehow that new kid had gotten through their defenses last night and assassinated Goto Hitoshi, one of the emperor's personal scribes and Saitou's superior. It was an embarrassment to the Shinsengumi, and once the perpetrator was caught, Saitou would not grant him the privilege of an easy death.

Calming down a little, the Third Squadrom leader casually picked back up the gobs of paper that had fallen to the floor and started to place them into semi-organized piles. During these difficult times it was too easy to become so wrapped up in the politics of the matter and forget the bigger picture. Aku, Soku, Zan. As long as evil comes to a swift death, the rest will work itself out. What's hard during the war is separating what is evil and what is not. Looking back on his previous day, Saitou regretted his rash decision to torch the peasant restaurant and kill the lady owner. But he was so mad at that Shishio kid that he believed the loss of a few innocent lives would have been well spent if he really could have caught that assassin in the restaurant. This was one evil character whom it was best not to take chances with. But such impulsive actions were not the type of things that Saitou prided himself on, and his conscious was suffering from the innocent lives lost. Not that he really cared… All he was concerned with was his instant death to evil, and as long as that came about…

Still contemplating the problem at hand, and the official inquiries for his superiors that were sure to come following the assassination of Hitoshi-san, Saitou calmly took a cigarette out from his inner pocket and lit up, inhaling the smoky fumes like they were as life giving as oxygen itself. Ahh, cigarettes were probably the only good thing to come from the West…and maybe coffee too. After pacing around his tiny room for a while and clearing his head, Saitou made a decision to get a little bit of rest in before the night's activities. After all, rumor had it that Tokugawa Keiki himself was to be making a little visit to Kyoto to see how his troops were faring.

--

Kogoro Katsura looked questioningly at the wet and bloody hitokiri sitting on the floor across from him. He didn't know whether to be upset or relieved. While happy that Goto Hitoshi had been killed, Katsura knew that Shishio's escape had been a close one, and he even feared that the Shinsengumi had followed the young manslayer back to current secret-location Ishin Shishi headquarters. It was not a comforting thought. And to make matters even worse, Shishio had returned soaked in smelly river water mixed with blood, and would no doubt leave a stain on Katsura's new Persian rug that graced his elaborately decorated office. His blank face turning into a scowl, Katsura turned to Shishio and said, "Well, at least you managed to execute your duty. Now, are you absolutely sure none of the Shinsengumi observed your return to base?"

"Yes, Kogoro-san. I'm sure. And completing that assassination was easy… the bastard never saw it coming. It was the getting back alive part that was hard…"

"And also not as important," interrupted Kogoro.

"I suppose not," purred the assassin, but the look of bruised pride on his face showed clearly that he thought otherwise. "After that entire chase throughout the city, Saitou Hajime and his Third Squadron had almost caught up with me. But his pride prevented him from catching me; when he almost had me in his grasp, he stopped his pursuit to punish some peasant girl who had insulted one of his men. And I slipped away like a shadow into the Kamo River."

"Indeed, Saitou seems to be losing his fighting spirit. His days working close to the government have corrupted him…" Looking up from his sentence, Katsura stared hard into Shishio's eyes, as if appraising him. The hitokiri's cold eyes met his with equal intensity, glittering a shade between violet and crimson. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as the two allies stared each other down. Eventually it was Katsura who broke the silence, pulling his eyes away and nodding in approval. "I see you are still fit to fight, Shishio Makoto. Tonight we have an especially vital assignment for you…"


	2. Past and Present

Chapter 2: Past and Present

Sorry this update took so long. I kind of got distracted. I recently got back in the mood for some more Rurouni Kenshin, so I decided to work on this fic again. Please read and review!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin

It was like walking through a scene from a nightmare. Tokio could not help but stare, panicking, at the dry autumn leaves around her, ignited like candles, dancing and dying like sinister, seizing geishas. It was a sick scene to her young eyes. The small restaurant which Tokio and her mother had labored on their entire lives lay in a smoking hulk, like the steaming carcass of a freshly slaughtered bear. The air reeked of smoke and charred wood, causing Tokio to have some difficulty breathing. The air was saturated with thick silver smoke.

But that was not nearly the worst of it. While she had been treading water at her hiding place along the river's edge, she heard her mother die. It took all of Tokio's effort to keep from screaming, even when she saw her mother's bodiless head splash into the water at her side—once beautiful dead eyes mercifully closed, with her well-kept hair still meticulously tied up with her white ribbon. Then the river did its duty and the head disappeared downstream, but the damage had been done to Tokio's emotional state. It was the work of a very mentally determined woman to stay hidden and quiet until finally she could not stand waiting any longer; she had to see the extent of the carnage with her own eyes, and then she didn't care too strongly whether she would suffer the same fate as her mother.

Everything was in ruins. Tokio could hardly dare to look at the restaurant, fearing the memories that might come flooding back would overwhelm her, afraid to drown in a sea of might-have-beens. But perhaps even more disturbing was the fact that, in this time of upheaval, one more burned out building along the street would mean nothing to a passerby, and death had become so commonplace that tears would no longer be spared for strangers. It was a different life before this had happened—with her mother and her business Tokio felt she could separate herself from the war torn city around her. These bad things surely happened to other people, but never to her, never to her family. It was a rude awakening. Instead of the life-filled river and blue promising sky she had seen earlier in the day, all Tokio could see now was hate and unnecessary suffering. The river was tinged red with the blood of innocent civilians, and the sky was nothing more than a slate grey mirror, reflecting the souls of men who knew no other trade than death.

She could not bear to look for the corpse of her mother. It pained her somewhat to make this decision, as burial and prayers for the dead were such sacred rituals. But Tokio simply did not have the strength left in her, and in her opinion the land would offer a better burial than her frightened little hands ever could. Picking up her clothes, which were miraculously left unscathed, the young woman hastily got dressed and fled away from the smoldering remnants of what had been her life.

---^^---

One-two…One-two…Ha! Hyahhh! The soft sound of a bamboo shinai swishing through the air filled the garden. The cherry blossoms were just starting to come into bloom; their gentle scent and beautiful appearance silently appreciated by the small six year old who was unceasingly practicing his swordsmanship, holding hopes of becoming a strong and powerful man one day. The imaginary foes he created fell before him one by one, victims of his intricate bladework and steady hands. His training was personal and very intense, designed by his father to complement the two hours a day he spent in Nakamura-san's dojo learning proper techniques.

"Hajime, you've been out there practicing all afternoon. Come inside for a bit. Mother's just cooked some fantastic-looking beef dumplings for us. Hurry up or your food will get cold!"

Young Saitou leaned his shinai against one of the larger cherry blossom trees, and hurried inside, anxious to obey his father. He held his Dad in the highest respect possible; he was a good man who worked hard for his family—one of those people who is always available with a sincere smile and words of encouragement when anyone in his family needed it. Hajime's two older brothers where already seated and eating ravenously, with a gusto that only growing boys could match. Pulling three dumplings out of the still steaming pot, Hajime sat down and ate the delicious homecooked food.

"Hajime," said the boy's father, in a quiet voice, "I am very impressed with your devotion to the life of a swordsman, even at such an early age. But I really wish you would pay just a little more attention in the writing and reading lessons you have been receiving. Swords cannot win every battle, and being intelligent is also vital. Learning to read and write well is something you have to do! Eventually the people in this country will realize that fighting with each other isn't solving any of the problems we have, and us with such strong samurai blood in our veins will have to be witty to live in such a world. But until then, a sword is a necessary weapon. But do promise me you will use it only for good. There are many bad people out there, and those are the only one who must feel the bite of your blade. OK, son?"

"Yes, papa," squeaked the child. Most of his father's ramblings went beyond young Hajime's understanding, but he did understand this: that the sword was to be used only to fight what is evil.

First a light brown fog swirled down, then faded to grey and finally to charcoal black. Saitou felt like he was locked within a duststorm, unable to move. But then the scence changed, and before him knelt that woman from the restaurant—begging, pleading, praying for him to spare her life. And father's words rang in his ears like thunder…

Bolting straight from his tatami, Saitou Hajime snapped away from his dream. Just a dream, that's all it was, but he found himself sweating and shaking for some reason. It was never pleasant when uninvited memories came to ruin one's nap, but what worried him most was the unrest he felt in his heart. It was as if his entire moral code had been called under attack. Was death to evil really important enough to steal life from the innocent?

---^^---

After wandering the streets for a few hours, Tokio was discovering that Kyoto was a different place when you are alone and homeless. The long period of fighting, hatred, and unrest had taken a toll on the citizens; and those who had shelter and family guarded it with such vigor that it bordered on insanity. No hospitality would be found here. No kind hearted family would appear to rescue her from the gloom of the streets. The other thing that amazed Tokio was the sheer number of soldiers on the streets. Earlier in the morning she had passed two Ishin Shishi battalions, nearly one hundred men in each, laughing and marching out of step, katanas carried sloppily at their sides. It seemed to her that the Shogunate presence here was waning. Near the beginning of the war, it was not unusual to see Shinsengumi squadrons out in broad daylight, making a display of their presence. Now they kept mostly to the night, when the action would really take place. The streets of Kyoto turn into Hell's doorstep at night. During her waitressing duties at the restaurant, Tokio had heard stories of the legenday Battousai the manslayer, who could slay one hundred men with such speed that only the gods could see. Anyways, the young woman did not want to risk being on the street after the sun set.

---^^---

On the edge of the city, two freshly killed corpses lay in a ditch at the side of a well-traveled path, their rancid scent masked by the smell of flowers growing nearby. A short way up the road, a chestnut colored horse was grudgingly carrying a young man on its back. His long black hair pulled up in a tight ponytail, Shishio Makoto rode comfortably on the back of his newly acquired steep, feeling spiteful that hikokiri did not receive much in the way of a paycheck. Unlike the battalion captains in the Ishin Shishi and the Shinsengumi leaders, hitokiri like Shishio were given enough yen to get by on, but only that. Sure, there were other perks involved, and if a request was put in to Kogoro, just about anything could be easily acquired. But some things were better not drawing too much attention to, and Shishio did not like to ask for help. He just took what he needed, and finding a decent horse on the way into Kyoto was not too difficult of a task. The deaths were quick and quiet. During the past five weeks he had been working in Kyoto, Shishio had gone through ten or twelve different horses. Thinking back, he could remember two specifically that had been killed in fighting, but the rest just refused to work for him after a couple of days. Whether he had overworked them or they could simply smell the blood on his hands, Shishio could not be sure, but whenever this happened he would let the horse go free; there was no use killing an animal that couldn't snitch on him. And besides, the presence of a masterless horse on the streets of Kyoto could hardly cause a stir among the poor, filthy peasants.

It was not a long ride to the heart of the city, and Shishio felt much better than he had in days. The clean clothes that he had stolen from one of the unfortunate travelers felt light and comfortable against his skin, helping him feel refreshed and invigorated. Maybe even invincible.

---^^---

"I saw! I saw! Yes, I'm sure I saw! It was him, Battousai the manslayer, I'm sure of it. He moved so fast it was like lightnight!"

Eleven years old, and carrying all the pride of his samurai ancestors, the annoying child just wouldn't shut up. Though not too much older himself, Okita Souji found the difference in maturity exponential, and was quickly becoming annoyed with this little one. Beside, Battousai had left Kyoto and was not coming back. But the other assassin on the rampage…possibly him? Keeping a slight smile plastered on his face, Okita softly asked the child, "Could you describe this man for me please? The one who killed your aunt and uncle?"

Speaking really quickly and excitedly, the boy began. "He was light-skinned as the moon, but his hair was midnight-dark. And he wasn't dressed like a Shinsengumi either. Like a rogue samurai. And his eyes, they were…red, I think. Like a forest demon. He came from nowhere and swooped down on Auntie and Uncle. I was slow because they were riding way too fast, so I was way behind. I heard it though. I know it was him! Battousai killed my aunt! How cool is that?"

Souji rolled his eyes at that last comment, wondering if there was any hope for the next generation. "We'll be sending you back to your parents in Tokyo now. You've been a real help."

With a final maniacal smile, the boy walked away, escorted out by two of Souji's underlings, still ranting about Battousai the manslayer.

---^^---

Tokugawa Keiki sat quietly as his advisors briefed him on the present Kyoto situation, their fat lips chittering, chattering, and smacking as they warned Keiki of the assassination rumor and the other dangers inherent with entering a war-torn city. Keiki barely listened. He understood fully that entering into Kyoto, war-zone that it was, did hold some dangers for him. For that reason precisely, his permanent residence was nowhere near that city, instead built in a beautiful forested area a stone's throw from Tokyo. While he had no desires to live in Kyoto, a short visit to his underlings could not hold that much danger, and seemed to be the right thing to do at this time during the course of the war. As the war continued to flow on like a river, Keiki could see each potential bend and twist. He always believed that, as surely as summer follows the spring, a great drought would come soon and dry up that river of war, that great body of hatred. And then peace would finally sprout up among the ashes.

Living away from the heart of the violence, away from the constant sounds of gunshots and the screams of the dying, had caused the shogun to consider himself a man of peace. He did not relish the war, hated it in fact, but believed war necessary to any country, just as all four seasons are necessary for the year to be balanced. While this mindset allowed Keiki to sleep well at night, he hated the thought of good Japanese citizens killing each other—families ripped up and innocent people suffering. And if a visit to Kyoto could, in any way, help this war end just a little bit sooner, it would be worth it a thousand times over. He just wished his horse-drawn coach would move just a little faster.


End file.
